


The Best of Times

by deanandsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 01:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanandsam/pseuds/deanandsam
Summary: Dean, Sam and the Impala. Dean is exactly where he wants to be, as is Sam.





	1. Dean's POV

Dean took his eyes from the road to steal a glance at his sleeping brother.

Sam's mouth was hanging slightly open, his head flopped back against the seat, his undisciplined hair doing its own thing as it always did, despite his brother's attempts to keep it under control.

Dean's full lips curled up in a smile.

Sam always slept soundly in the Impala. It had cradled him tenderly since he was six months old, and anyway his little brother knew that Dean watched over him better than any guardian angel.

Much, much better, for angels had no soul.

They couldn't love, not like humans could, and Dean's love for his brother transcended space and time. There was nothing he wouldn't do for him, no living being he wouldn't kill to protect him, no world he wouldn't lay waste to save him.

Dean had accepted it now. That was just how it was. Sammy came before everything and he didn't regret it, not one little bit.

 

Dean had experienced life without his brother when Sam was in the Cage, and though he'd acted out the part of a suburban husband and father almost to perfection, inside he'd been dead; a zombie gong through the motions of living, while suffering along with his little brother.

Oh, he remembered alright! He remembered the nightmares when he awoke screaming Sam's name while poor Lisa held on to him and tried to soothe him as best she could.

It would never happen again; life without his brother by his side was not an option!

Banishing the terrible memories to the depths of his subconscious, he dragged his eyes back to the road. It was empty except for the Impala; a black ribbon stretching enticingly towards the unknown.

 

An image came to mind of some years ago, before the Apocalypse shit had come down; a younger Sam with bangs and a hoodie, sleeping just as he was now.

He'd slipped a plastic spoon into his little brother's open mouth and taken a picture. Dean grinned as he remembered Sam's bitchy expression when he'd woken up.

God, it seemed so long ago, but they say history repeats itself and who was Dean to argue with history; so he reached a hand back to the rear seat, his fingers stretching until he retrieved a plastic spoon that was still in the empty coffee cup. He inserted it gently into his brother's open mouth, pulled out his phone and took a picture.

He still had the old one saved in his phone and when Sam surfaced from the land of nod, he'd tease his brother with them both. Dean was already anticipating Sam's pissed expression on finding this latest spoon in his mouth.

Yeah, he'd be bitch-faced from here to eternity!

 

Gripping the wheel tighter, he pressed down on the gas, the Impala responding like the great lady she was.

He had Sam at his side, the Impala under his ass and the open road ahead. It was everything Dean Winchester had ever wanted.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's POV

I was drifting in that grey region between dreams and reality, neither fully awake nor completely asleep, but the comforting rumble of the Impala was making me opt to remain a little longer in that hazy half-world, when I suddenly felt something being gently inserted into my mouth.

My first reaction was to open my eyes and spit out whatever it was, but I held back.  
I knew Dean was beside me, the Impala was purring along happily, so nothing threatening could be going on.  
I dimly heard the click of a phone. What the heck!

Then the memory came to me of another day when we were younger.

I won't say we were carefree even then. I’d lost Jessica, I’d almost lost Dean, getting him back only through a faith-healer I’d come across at the last minute, we’d found Dad only to lose him again, but somehow, even with all the crap that had been going on, we were more-light-hearted.  
We’d still been so young, and the young always hope the future will come through for them. In our case it never did, it only got worse but we didn't know that back then.

I’d been asleep in the Impala, just as I was now and Dean had taken a photo of me after putting a plastic spoon in my mouth, setting off a string of brotherly pranking while we investigated a case of a false ghost which turned out to be very real!

Yeah, I reminisced, I had come out of the bathroom, a skimpy motel towel around my privates to find Dean hovering over my bed. My brother, the douche, had been filling my clothes with itching powder. I had to admit he got me good there!

Then, how we’d smirked and laughed when we put one over on the wannabee ghost-hunters.  
I had phoned pretending to be a producer who wanted to buy their story for a film and Dean had left a not too fresh fish on their back seat. We had chortled over it like two children as the Impala roared away.

They'd been carefree days I suppose, if compared to what came after- Dad's death, Hell, Ruby, vessels for Michael and Lucifer, the Apocalypse, the Cage, the Leviathans.

:::::  
Once again, I felt the taste of plastic in my mouth, I wanted to spit it out but I didn't.  
If Dean felt the need to repeat that far-off joke, who was I to deny him? I was happy he was relaxed enough to think of pranking me.

Pranking was one of the ways we showed our love for each other, along with silent glances, a hand on a shoulder or pulling each other up after being thrown about by some random monster. When the need to anchor ourselves to reality overwhelmed us, we simply held on to each other, to the only other being in the world who could understand.  
We were Winchesters after all, and actions spoke louder than words!

Gabriel, who when he was still passing himself off as a Trickster, had made me suffer as no other, condemning me to witness Dean dying every day and then taking him permanently from me, turning me into an unemotional robot for six months until I got my brother back, did however say something which remained forever seared in my memory.

"Play your roles," he’d ordered in that warehouse after dragging us through his TV world, and he’d been right; he’d just gotten the roles wrong.

I was Sam Winchester, a six-foot four killing machine, a man infected with demon blood, a vessel for the Devil himself, so I had many roles to play, but my only true one was that of little brother, Dean Winchester's little brother, and it so would always be.  
It was the only role I wanted to play because it was who I really was.

In a few minutes, I’d pretend to wake up and I’d bitch-face my big brother to eternity because I know that's what he expected and I’d give it to him.

I’d see his face break into a triumphant grin, see the lines of worry and pain around his eyes relax and the love in his eyes as he looked at me. I was happy I could give him this.  
He deserved so much more but for now it was all I had.

I had been Dean's little brother since the day I was born, just as he had been my big brother. That could never change, whatever else happened to us, however long we lived.

 

"Dean!" I bitched, batting the plastic intruder away. "What the hell! Are you five years old or what? Really, a plastic spoon in my mouth!"

Everything I'd predicted happened and I basked satisfied in the warmth of my big brother's reactions, happy to have given him this carefree moment.

The end


End file.
